Fifty Shades of Grey
by shites
Summary: When college senior Andrew Steele steps in for his sick roommate to interview prominent businessman Christian Grey for their campus paper, little does he realize the path his life would take from thereon. Christian, as enigmatic as he is rich and powerful, finds himself strangely drawn to Andrew, and he to him. Though hesitant, Andrew plunges headlong into an affair with Grey. M/M
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer:_ This work is purely fictional and has, in no way, relevance to the real world or people either living or dead. All Rights to E.L. James for the creation of the Fifty Shades characters and setting. No profit is being made from this.

* * *

 _CHAPTER ONE_

"Andrew, I'm sorry about this, really," Katherine Kavanagh was saying, her voice hoarse and cracking with each word. "But as the editor, I can't blow this off. It took me nine months to even schedule an interview with him. Rescheduling would take another six months, and we'll have graduated by then."

Staring at his reflection in the small, circular mirror that hung in the living room with a hint of a scowl to his face, Andrew Steele threaded his fingers through his unruly hair a dozen times in hopes of coaxing it into lying flat. He'd already tried brushing it into submission, but like all things in his life, it gave him a metaphoric middle finger for even bothering. He looked a _little_ presentable, at least – if pale boys with large blue eyes and brown hair that curled in everything direction were worthy of being bestowed with such a label.

"It's fine," Andrew said with a final scowl at his reflection. He turned to face Kate with a wry smile, taking in her less than settler appearance. Even with a flu, Kate had somehow managed to look gorgeous with her strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes. The whites of her eyes were rimmed red and her tip of her nose runny and flushed vermillion. "I mean, finals are in a week and I should be studying but because I'm the greatest friend in the world, I will put your needs above my own. Again."

Kate laughs, bunching the blanket tighter around herself. "I know. I know. And I'll make it up to you, okay?"

"Dinner at Cactus Madison Park and you're paying for the gas."

"Deal," Kate said and she reached for the digital recorder and file folder she'd left on the coffee table. "Just ask the questions I'd written down and don't forget to take notes, Drew. I'll transcribe everything when you get back."

Taking the folder and recorder from her, Andrew placed them into his worn messenger bag with a barely audible sigh of exasperation. He had finals to cram for and an essay to finish, and along with having been schedule to work that afternoon, he didn't have the time of day to be driving to downtown Seattle to interview an enigmatic, mega-industrial tycoon he'd never heard of. Yet, there he was, dressed in black jeans and a grey long-sleeved,

"So, hypothetically, if this tanks and I get thrown into jail for insulting the rich old dude, you're gonna bail me out – right?" Andrew asked, jokingly to cover his rising panic because he was starting to realize just how in over his head he might be with this.

"You won't get arrested. Just ask the question I'd already prepared and you'll do fine. Now go. It's a long drive and I don't want you to be late."

"Okay, _mom_ ," Andrew said as he snatched up the keys to Kate's car and hurried to the front door before she could protest. "I've made you some soup. Don't forget to take some Nyquil before you go to bed, babe."

"Andrew — "

Closing the door behind him, Andrew whistled to himself as he locked up and headed out to the buildings parking lot. Still in disbelief that he'd somehow let Kate rope him into doing this, Andrew sauntered over to her Mercedes CLK, popped open the door and slid into the driver's seat. _It's only fair_ , Andrew thought as he ignited the engine, _that she lend me her car. As a compensation for doing this._

It wasn't often that Andrew got to drive a car this nice. Or any car that was a decade younger than his beat-up, ancient VW Beetle. Setting off from the parking lot of the duplex that he shared with Kate, Andrew headed towards Interstate 5 with the stereo filling the silence with the crooning of country singers.

Kate's interview was set for two and at the speed that he going, Andrew was coming upon his destination far quicker then he would have liked. _Better to get it over with now then later_ , he supposed as the looming, cluster of glass and steel towers came into view. It was a quarter to two when he finally arrived at his destination and parked in front of it. The headquarters for Grey Enterprise was a large, twenty-story office building built of carved glass and steel. It reminded him of something out a fantasy novel. GREY HOUSE was written in steel above the rotating glass doors.

Andrew hesitated for a moment as he stared at the building with mouth slightly agape. _Holy hell_. He was definitely in over his head with this one. This was not like the time when he'd wrote Kate's term paper senior year, or when he had lied to her mom about her whereabouts while Kate was out partying with a bunch of upperclassmen when they were freshmen in high school – this was an interview with a man he was pretty sure would have him arrested just for stepping into his posh office with worn out converse.

"Get it together, Steele," Andrew muttered to himself as he stepped into the enormous lobby. The first thing he noticed about it was that it was cold – like someone left the industrial AC running all night. For the past year. Shivering and sorely wishing he'd brought his jacket, despite the fact it was sixty degrees outside, he took a glance around the lobbies interior. It was made of glass, steel, and white sandstone desk.

Beside the sandstone receptionist desk, an attractive, blonde woman with warm brown eyes smiled him over. She was wearing a crisp charcoal suit jacket and the whitest shirt that Andrew had ever seen. He didn't even know shirts that white were available. Either she went to the greatest laundry cleaner ever, or just had the money to afford an outfit that screamed money and made Andrew feel seriously underdressed.

"I'm here to see Mister Grey," he said, tongue thick in his mouth as he forced the words out. "Andrew Steele. I'm stepping in for Katherine Kavanagh. She's sick, you see."

"One moment, Mister Steele," she said, eyebrows inching toward her hairline as she takes in Andrew's attire. He almost wanted to snap at her for obviously judging his choice of outfit — but the thought of the hell Kate would bestow upon him kept him from doing anything more than giving her a tight-lipped smile. "Alright, Mister Steele. Please sign in here" — she slides a visitors sign in sheet over to Andrew — ", and take the last elevator on the right. Your destination is on the twentieth floor."

She hands over a security pass with _VISITOR_ stamped across the front, and Andrew mumbles a quiet "thanks" as he takes it and walked over the line of elevators. The security guards he passed didn't even glance his way — which Andrew was thankful for because he doubted he could meet their eye without breaking out into a sweat. They too, like the receptionist, was smartly dressed in well-cut black suits that probably cost more than his rent.

For the few minutes he had to himself inside the elevator as it whisked him away to the twentieth floor, Andrew paced. His hands were starting to tremble, sweat a little, and he checked his contents of his messenger bag a dozen times to make sure that he hadn't forgotten the folder and recorder. There was no way in hell he could face the CEO of Grey Enterprise without it.

When the doors slid open and he entered another lobby that was similar down to the last leather chair to the one he came from, Andrew was confronted by another pretty blonde woman who rose to greet him.

"Mister Steele, could you wait here, please?" She points to this seating area with a bright smile.

Andrew nods mutely and occupies the nearest seat. Behind the white leather chairs was a spacious glass-walled meeting room with a large mahogany desk and twenty black leather chairs surrounding it. Beyond that, a floor-to-ceiling window. The sight of the city and skylines was stunning. Retrieving the folder from his bag, Andrew tried to run through them but the words wouldn't settle on the page. He was too nervous and just a tad bit agitated with himself. With Kate. He was starting to doubt his abilities with such an important task. He didn't know anything about the man he was going to interview. Even knowing how old this man was would have been helpful.

Maybe it was just him, Andrew thinks. He'd never been too comfortable with mono e mono interviews before, or group discussions for that matter. He'd always preferred to keep to himself, maybe read a good book and listen to Jazz music to pass the time. He definitely did not do semi-nervous twitching in a colossal glass-and-stone edifice.

Blowing a sigh and combing a hand through his hair to get a grip of himself, Andrew jerked his head up when the large door to his right opened and another blonde woman stepped out. He was starting to question if this was place was actually an office building or Hugh Herfner's secret sex pin.

"Mister Steele?" the new woman asked.

"Uh, yeah. I mean, yes?"

"Mister Grey will see you in a moment," she said with a curl of a smile. "Until then, please be patient."

"Um, okay."

"Have you been offered any refreshments?"

Andrew blinked up at her. "No," he said and quickly added when the woman turned to frown at the other blonde girl. "It's fine! I'm not really thirsty anyway."

"Are you sure? We have tea, coffee or water if you like," she said, turning her attention back to him.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"As you wish. If you change your mind, Olivia will gladly fetch it for you."

Olivia pursued her lips at the other blonde woman, her eyes narrowing a fraction. Andrew stared at them for a moment before returning his attention to the list of questions Kate had written down. He had just turned to the second page when the office door opened and a tall, elegantly dressed black man with short dreads exited. He turned and said through the door, "Golf this weekend, Grey?"

Andrew didn't hear the reply. He watched as the man turned to look him over once, smile and make his way over to the elevators that Olivia helpfully called up for him. He bid the ladies farewell and Andrew was once again left with nervous Olivia and Blonde Numero Dos.

"Mister Grey will see you now, Mister Steele," Blonde Numero Dos said.

Andrew's legs don't shake when he stands, they simply tremble a little bit as he tried to squash down his nerves. Gathering his bag and tucking the folder under his free arm, Andrew made his way over to the partially open door and raised a hand to knock.

"You don't need to knock," Olivia said with a kind smile. "Just go in."

Andrew nods and pushes the door open a fraction farther before slipping through the gap. When Andrew envisioned the CEO of Grey Enterprise, he had thought of a man in his late fifties, hell he was even prepared for an old geezer. But this man – well, he just blew all his presumptions down the drain. He was young, perhaps early forties or well into his thirties – and attractive. Unfairly attractive. He was tall and dressed in a fine, gray suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. His hair was a tousled, dark copper-colored and his eyes a sharp, luminescent shade of gray.

He was staring at Andrew shrewdly.

 _Oh my god_ , Andrew thought as the man extended a long-fingered hand to him. _I offended him. I just met him and I've already pissed him off._

"You're not Miss Kavanagh," he said in a deep, baritone voice that made Andrew's mouth dry.

"Um. Actually …" Andrew tried to say around the cotton in his mouth, watching dazedly as he raised his own hand. When the man's fingers wrapped around his hand, the gears in Andrew's mind came to a screeching halt. Mister Grey's hand was warm, smoldering hot and he could have sworn for a wild second that static ran between them. He takes back his hand, quickly, and with a ting of pink to his neck. "Miss Kavanagh is indisposed at the moment, so she sent me in her place. I hope you don't mind."

"And you are?"

"Andrew Steele. I'm Kate's … Miss Kavanagh's friend. We're both studying English Literature at UW."

"I see," he says simply, and there was a ghost of smile on his lips for a second. "Well then, it's a pleasure to meet you, Mister Steele. I'm Christian Grey. Would you like to take a seat?" He gestures to an L-shaped white leather couch.

Andrew sits down numbly and takes a moment to subtly look around the office. It was way too big of a room for just one man. A dark wooden desk that could have easily seat six people for a meal sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. The desk matched the coffee table by the couch, and everything else in the room was white – except for the small wall by the door. A mosaic of small paintings hung there, thirty-six from what he'd counted and arranged in a square. They were pretty enough, Andrew guessed. He didn't know crap about art, but he could at least appreciate there was some beauty in the series of mundane, objects that were painted with such detail that he'd almost thought they were photographs.

"A local artist," Grey said when he noticed Andrew's gaze. "Trouton."

"Oh, it's nice," Andrew mutters, lamely. He'd be damned if he had a discussion about art with Grey.

Grey regarded him intently for a moment, head cocked, and Andrew cleared his throat as he took in the rest of the room. Apart from the paintings, the rest of the office was clean, cold and clinical. It was probably a reflection of Grey himself. Flipping open the folder and taking out Kate's questions when Grey sat down across from him, Andrew set up the recorder. When he draws up the courage to look up at Grey, the man is watching him. There was something … unsettling in the way his eyes never once wavered from Andrew's face.

Andrew stifled a cough and ducked his head down to focus on the page in front of him. "You don't mind if I record our interview, do you?"

"No, I don't mind."

"Did Kate … er, Miss Kavanagh tell you what this interview was for?" _Because she sure as hell didn't tell me_.

"Yes. It'll be appearing in the graduation issue of the student newspaper as I'll be conferring the degrees at this year's ceremony."

Andrew tilts his head in acknowledgement to Grey's statement. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about someone just a couple of years older than him handing him a degree, but he wasn't about to bother with it. "Okay," he said, swallowing nervously. "Okay, good. I have some questions I'd like to ask you, Mister Grey."

"I thought you might," Grey said, and the laughter is apparent in his tone. Scratching at his cheek, sheepishly, Andrew pressed the start button on the recorder and straightened his posture into what he hoped was confident, intimidating.

"You're rather young to have amassed such an empire within a short amount of time. To what do you owe to your success?" Andrew asked, glancing up at Grey quickly. There was a rueful smile on his lips, mild disappoint in his eyes.

"Business is all about the people, Mister Steele, and I'm a very good judge of character. I know what makes people tick, what makes them flourish, what inspires them, and how to incentivize them. I've employed an exceptional team, and I reward them well." Grey pauses to fix him with a smile full of teeth. "It is my belief that in order to achieve success in any scheme, one must make themselves the master of that scheme. They must know it inside and out, and every last detail. Every decision I have ever made, Mister Steele, was based on logic and fact."

 _Wow, he's arrogant,_ Andrew thought as he blinked owlishly up at Grey. _Super arrogant. King of arrogance._

"Maybe you were just lucky," Andrew said, sardonically.

"I don't abhor to luck or chance, Mister Steele. I simply work hard. When you have the right people on your team, Mister Steele, and their skills and energy are directed accordingly, success is imminent. I believe it was Harvey Firestone who once said, 'The growth and development of people is the highest calling of leadership.'"

"You sound like a control freak."

"I exercise control in all things, Mister Steele," Grey said, his voice low, dripping with something that left Andrew wondering if there was more to them. He looks up at him, and Grey holds his gaze, steadily, impassively. Andrew can't ignore the way his fingers tremble, how his breathing stalls for a second. "Immense power," Grey continued, "is acquired by assuring yourself in your secret reveries that you were born to control things."

 _Total control freak. Probably a psycho too._ "Do you think you have immense power?"

"I employ over forty thousand people, Mister Steele. That gives me a certain sense of responsibility – power, if you will. If I were to ever decide that I was no longer interested in the telecommunications business and sell my company, twenty thousand people would find themselves struggling to make their mortgage payments after a month or so."

Andrew stared at him, lips drawn into a tight grimace. _Definite psycho villain material_. "Don't you have a board to answer to?" he asked with more bite than he'd intended.

"I own my company. I don't have to answer to anyone." Grey raises an eyebrow at him, challenging him.

Andrew doesn't take the bait, no matter how much he'd like to tear Mister High-And-Mighty a new one. "Do you have any interest outside of your work?"

"I have a variety of interest, Mister Steele." A ghost of a smile touches his lips, his eyes smoldering with a heat that makes Andrew shift in his seat.

"Okay, good to know, but what do you do for fun?"

"For fun?" Grey reiterates. "Well, 'for fun' as you put it – I enjoy sailing, flying, and indulging in various physical pursuits." He straightens in his chair, legs crossing at the knee. "I'm a wealthy man with expensive and absorbing hobbies, Mister Steele."

"I'm sure," Andrew muttered under his breath as he glanced down at sheet of questions. "You've invested in manufacturing several times. Why, exactly?"

"I've always enjoyed the beauty of building things. How they are constructed and deconstructed."

"That's not really an answer, Mister Grey."

The corners of Grey's mouth quirked into a smile. "It's a perfectly reasonable answer, Mister Steele."

"By who's standards?"

"Mine, of course," Grey said. He leans forward, elbows touching the edge of the table. "You must understand, Mister Steele, I'm a very private person. I will go to any number of lengths to protect my privacy. In that regard, I rarely give interviews to scrawny college students …"

 _Did he just —_ "That was rude of you," Andrew said with a sniff.

"You're a rude boy."

Andrew stares at Grey, lips parted in surprise. He should be offended, he was offended – but the way that Grey had said 'rude boy', how his sculpted lips wrapped around the words, it sounded sensual; salacious. Andrew feels a shudder run down his spine. "Why did you agree to do this interview, then?"

"Because I'm the benefactor of the university, and because I could not get Miss Kavanagh off my back. She was relentless in her badgering of my PR. Annoying it was, but I admired her tenacity."

Andrew was well aware of Kate's tenacity. It was because of it that he was sitting here under the penetrative scrutiny of a man he was slowly starting to hate, when he should have been studying for his exams.

"You've also invested in farming technologies. Are you interested in that area as well?"

"There are far too many people on this planet, Mister Steele, who do not have enough to eat, and money for all its uses and necessity cannot be eaten."

"Is that something you feel passionate about? Feeding the worlds impoverish?"

Grey gives a stoic shrug. "It's business," he says and Andrew raises a brow at him. There was nothing to gain, financially, by feeding the world's poor — a boost of virtue, perhaps. He skimmed over the next couple of questions.

"Do you have a guiding philosophy? If so, what is it?"

"I can't say that I have a guiding philosophy, maybe more of a guiding principle. Carnegie's, for example. 'A man who acquires the ability to take full possession of his own mind may take possession of anything else to which he is justly entitled.' I'm a driven man, Mister Steele and I like control – of myself and those around me."

"What exactly do you want to possess?"

Andrew regrets the question the second it uttered.

"Everything," Grey said. He was smiling, but it didn't reach his eyes. Whatever conversation they were currently having, it was not about feeding the poor – it was something else, wicked, darker. Something, Andrew felt, that involved him. He shakes away that feeling.

"How did your adoption shape the person you are today?" He asked, cautiously. It was personal and Andrew waited for Grey to tell him off for asking it.

His brows burrowed. "I wouldn't know."

"Okay," Andrew said. "How old were you when you were adopted?"

"That's a matter of public records, Mister Steele."

 _Crap_. He sounded angry, really angry. Like Andrew spilled coffee on his stupidly expensive shirt angry. "Ugh … sorry." He flipped to the next page of question, worrying his bottom lip as he asked, "Are you gay, Mister Grey?"

Grey doesn't even blink. Most straight men, or the straight men Andrew had foolishly assumed _were_ gay had been deeply offended or outright pissed. "Are you asking me for the sake of the interview, or for personal reasons, Mister Steele?"

"Uhh …" Andrew's brain had short circuited immediately. When it decided to function again, it took all his effort not to blush because, fuck his life, a super-rich, super handsome guy was probably hitting on him. Probably. He wasn't holding his breath on it. "You don't have to answer it. It's just … it's written on here." He points to the paper in his lap.

"I appreciate beauty in all forms, Andrew."

 _So bi. Good to know._

"Not good, not good at all," Andrew berated himself quietly before shaking his head and squaring his shoulders as he met Grey's eyes.

"You didn't compile the questions yourself, I take it?"

"No. Kate … Miss Kavanagh … she wrote them all. Did the research and everything. I'm just the lackey coming in her place."

"Are you colleagues on the student paper?"

Andrew shook his head in response. He didn't have the patience to sit through the madness that is the student paper. "No. She's just my roommate."

"You volunteered to do this interview, then?"

"Volunteered. Coerced. Same difference."

Andrew is relieved when a knock sounds in the spacious room, and the door opens. Blonde Numero Dos entered. "Mister Grey, forgive me for interrupting, but your next meeting is in two minutes."

"Cancel it, Andre," Grey said. "Mister Steele and I haven't finished yet."

Blonde Numero Dos, Andre, hesitates. She seemed surprised by this, leaving Andrew to wonder just how often Grey cancelled meetings. _Probably never_ , he thought as he watched her face burn hotly under Grey's linger eyes. He rolled his eyes. He could have been using his hotness for good – like modeling in Calvin Klein's underwear – not leaving women into tongue-tied and stupid.

"Very well, Mister Grey," she said, exiting and closing the door behind her.

Grey returns his focus to Andrew with small frown on his face.

"Shall we continue, Mister Steele?"

"I don't want to impose," Andrew says. "You have a meeting to get to, and I don't have any more questions to ask."

"It's quite alright, Mister Steele," Grey said, slowly and softly. "The meeting can be rescheduling. The chances of seeing you again, however, are minimal."

The sides of the pages are crushed underneath Andrew's sudden and tight hold. His heart is hammering against his ribcage, tremors vibrating his lips as he parts his mouth to speak only for a small, strangled sound to come forth. _Fuck_. This guy was definitely messing with him.

"I think it's only fair that I get to know you as well, Andrew," Grey said, a curious note in his voice.

"There's not … there's not much to know, really," Andrew managed to say, clearing his throat a couple of times to rid himself of the thick lump in his throat.

"What are your plans after graduation?"

 _Find a job. Hope Kate continues to put up with me_. He shrugged. Aside from that, he hadn't really given it much thought. "I don't know, Mister Grey. Getting through final exams is my main priority at the moment." _Which I should be studying for right now, not sitting in your office._

"We have an excellent internship program here," Grey informed him, and Andrew raises an eyebrow at him. Was that a job offer?

 _God, I hope not_. He couldn't imagine having to work for a possible psycho control freak like Christian Grey. "I'll keep that in mind," he said, mystified by the change in directions. Wasn't he supposed to be conducting this interview?

"Would you like to me to show you around?"

 _When hell freezes over._ "No," Andrew said, snapped – no difference. Grey blinks up at him in surprise. "Your time is precious and I have a long drive back home."

"You'll be leaving right away, then?" Grey sounded almost … disappointed. Andrew doesn't want to know why, curious as he is.

"I have no reason to stay any longer."

"Should I give you one?" Grey's lips are twisted into a devilish grin that Andrew was sure airheaded bimbos had fallen for a dozen times over, but he's a smart kid – really smart, and smart kids didn't drool over hot men who were probably trying to solicit them for illegal bedroom activities.

"No need." Packing away the recorder and papers, Andrew internally cursed when he realized that he hadn't taken notes for Kate. _She's just going to have to settle with what I have_ , he thought with a sniff. Straightening his posture and shouldering his messenger bag, Andrew got to his feet at the same time Grey did. "Thank you again for the interview, Mister Grey."

"The pleasures been all mine," Grey said, politely. "Until we meet again, Mister Steele."

It sounded like a challenge, or perhaps even a threat. Andrew was tempted to give a snarky "No, we will not meet again" as a response, but he finds himself frowning instead. He shook Grey's hand because it was polite and he doubted Grey would let him out the room without doing so.

"I'm sure," Andrew whispered as he took back his hand and made a subtly hasty escape to the door.

Grey beat him to it first, opening the door wide with a charming smile. Andrew's frown deepens. Nodding his head in thanks, he makes his way into the lobby and toward the elevator. When he realized that Grey was behind him, it took a great deal of will to not demand to know what his deal was. He seriously could not afford to get arrested, and knowing Kate, she most likely wouldn't pay for his bail because he forgot her o-so precious notes.

"Did you bring a coat?" Grey asked.

"No."

"It's raining."

"I can see that."

Andrew is acutely aware of Andre and Olivia watching them with wide eyes and shock written upon their Barbie doll faces. He doesn't care. He doesn't want to care, but he's painfully aware of how close Grey his standing to him. Heat was radiating off him in waves, and he all but jumps out of his skin when Grey's hand brushes along his shoulder to press his index finger over the summoning button. Waiting with Grey right behind him, a presence Andrew couldn't ignore even if he wanted to, was unnerving. The restless, panicky nerves he'd felt earlier were returning. He wanted to get away from this man. Right now.

The doors opened and he quickly hurries inside, eager to get out of the building and, sub-sequentially, away from Grey himself. When he looks up from pressing the lobby button, Grey is standing at the doorway, hand on the wall. "Andrew."

"Christian." The name left his lips in a whisper, breathless. Andrew couldn't be more thankful when the doors finally closed.


	2. Chapter 2

_CHAPTER TWO_

"How was it?"

Andrew had just stepped into the living room when Kate spoke up. She was propped up on a pillow, laptop balanced on her drawn knees and fingers flying through the keyboard. Andrew didn't answer right away. He sighed, kicked off his ratty converse and made his way into the adjacent kitchen to get himself a drink. The ride back from Grey House had been uneventful, quick. Andrew remembers leaving the building with clammy hands and the bizarre feeling that he'd just met the Devil himself, gotten back to the car and tore out the parking lot into traffic. One second he was on the interstate, and the next coming upon the duplex community he lived in.

As he poured the contents of the Pepsi can into a glass and mindful of the fact that a) he was stalling for him while his tongue unwound itself and b) Kate was burrowing holes into his back with her laser stare of impatience. Taking a sip and relieving his mouth of its desert dryness, Andrew cleared his throat, turned to face her and said with a shrug, "I'm not calling you from jail so I'd say it was a success. Mostly."

"Mostly?" Kate's lips thinned and her narrowed. "Why mostly? What did you do?"

Andrew, feigning hurt by her accusing tone, said, "Wow, where's the faith you had in me earlier?"

"It flew south when you said 'mostly'. So, I ask again: What did you do?"

"The only thing I _didn't_ do," Andrew says, "is take notes like you asked." Nursing the chilled glass, he makes his way over to the beige loveseat and nudges her feet away to make room for himself. Sitting down with a heavy, if not relieved sigh to be back home, Andrew glanced once at the digital clock beside the TV and while he mulled over the idea of going into work and putting in a shift, Kate had scavenged his messenger bag for the recorder and folder.

"I guess you did a good job," Kate said, drawing him back from the depths of his idle debate with his subconscious. "For a first timer."

"Yeah, that's what James said too when I —"

"No! Shut up! We are not discussing ex boyfriends and their dicks!" Kate screeched, hands flying to cover her ears.

Andrew arched a brow at her, the corner of his mouth lifting into an amused smirk. "Who said anything about dicks? I was just going to say the first time we _kissed_."

Kate didn't grace him with a response, though her cheeks did turn a darker shade of red in embarrassment. Laughing quietly into his drink, Andrew watched her work through hooded eyes, his mouth drooped in distaste as he listened to the recording. His voice sounded shaky in some parts, small in others; flustered. He hated it.

"This is really good," Kate praised. "Even without the notes, you did a solid job, Drew."

"I aim to please," Andrew drawled carelessly, placing his empty glass beside the stack of textbooks Kate had abandoned on the coffee table. They served as a reminder that he'd stilled hadn't studied for finals and his essay still needed work.

"So why didn't you agree to it?" Kate asked, pausing in her ministrations to look at Andrew.

He frowned at her. "Agree to what?"

"He offered to show you around, Drew. A personal tour of Grey House by Christian Grey himself. That's like, a once in a lifetime thing."

Andrew snorted. "I wasn't interested."

Kate looked offended. "You weren't interested," she said, slowly.

"Yup."

"Well, that proves my theory to be true." Kate returned to her work with a sigh of forlorn. "I always knew you weren't human, Drew. There's just no way a sane person would turn down a chance to be with a man that rich and handsome."

"Is that all you care about?" Andrew asked, ignoring the part of his apparent lack of humanness. "That's he's rich and good looking?"

"So you admit he's good looking."

"I have perfectly good eyes, thanks."

"Then you can understand why I'm so deeply confused," Kate said as she replayed the recorder. "He clearly wanted to know more about you – or better yet, be _in_ you. So why didn't you take his offer?"

 _Because he scared the shit out of me_ , Andrew thought with a heavy frown as he thumbed through a textbook at random. _Because I don't know a thing about him._ "He's just … intimidating, I guess," he said, the words tumbling out in a quiet voice. "Like … he's on a whole different level from me. He's older and he's rich and I'm just … I'm a broke college kid. I doubt rich people go for people like me unless they want a sex slave or something."

Kate was quiet for a long time. Andrew had, foolishly, thought that she had seen reason – or at least things from his perspective when she said in a voice that left no room for discussion: "I wouldn't mind being his sex slave."

 _….._

A week passed before Andrew saw Grey again, and while he would like to think it was purely coincidental that out of all the hardware stores in Seattle that Christian Grey just happened to end up Clayton's on the day that he was working, Andrew was dubious. It just appeared too … intentional for his comfort, but he wasn't about to call Grey out on it and make himself seem paranoid. Snapping his jaw shut after a pregnant pause of it being open, Andrew stared at the man in front of him with a stony expression. He had thought that he had buried all thoughts of Christian Grey where they needed to be – in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind where all bad experiences lied dormant and ignored. Even Kate hadn't mentioned him after Andrew had, firmly, told her that in no way, no how, and never in this lifetime or any to come after it would he ever, _ever_ , get involved with the likes of Christian Grey again.

Grey stands in front of the counter, his lips drawn up in that small, barely there smile that made Andrew want to scowl. "Andrew," he says in that voice Kate swears is just dripping with sex – her words, not his; never his.

"Mister Grey," Andrew said in pseudo-politeness because he was currently at working and snapping at Grey would not sit well with Laura Clayton; no matter how much she treated him like a son, she did not tolerate rudeness of any kind. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in need of some supplies, of course," Grey said, as if Andrew should have already guessed as much. "And, please, call me Christian."

 _I'd rather not_ , Andrew thought with a frown – or he'd assumed that those words hadn't left the confines of his mind, but the partially surprised expression on Grey's face said otherwise. Flushing and covering his mortification with a cough, he quickly waved a hand toward the aisles. "Well, uh, anything you need is over there. So … have at it."

Grey leaned against the counter, elbowed perched over the edge and the sleeves of his ash gray sweater bunched up to expose the muscles of his forearms. "Ah, but I'm not familiar with the stores layout, _Andrew_ ," he said, drawing out the syllables of Andrew's name in way that made his eye twitch. "I'll need your assistance."

"Sorry," Andrew said cheerfully, "but I'm on counter duty. Don't want to walk away and leave a customer waiting to be checked out. It's really unprofessional."

"It's also very rude to deny a customer assistance," Grey said. "And seeing as I'm the only customer here, Andrew, your efforts should go towards ensuring that I leave the story very … _satisfied_."

 _I have heard shit that cannot be unheard,_ Andrew thought as he gaped at Grey. He did not want to know what the man was insinuating – even if he could guess it, he really did not need the mental image. Even his ex's weren't this … straightforward with him before they'd started dating. And sure, his sexual experience might not as grandeur and vast as Grey's (he's assuming) but damn – the guy was way too confident. "I'll draw you a map," he said, bluntly.

"I'd much prefer a personal guide," Grey insisted.

"Fine!"

Sliding from behind the counter, Andrew crossed his arms and made a point of standing as far away from Grey. The man smirked, amused. "Well, what do you need?"

"Cable ties," Grey answered pleasantly.

Andrew didn't bat an eye "Anything else?"

"Masking tape and some rope."

"Right," Andrew said, scratching at his cheek as he led the way to aisle eight. Curious as he was to know what he would use those items for, Andrew kept to himself. He was only assisting Grey in finding his supplies – conversations were not mandatory unless he needed to explain something about the products themselves. Coming to a stop in front of the display of cable ties that varied in length and colors, Andrew leaned against the next aisle to allow Grey the space he needed to examine the ties and find the one that suited him.

"It's for a small project," Grey said.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't need to. Your eyes gave away your curiosity."

"Did they now?"

Grey turns to face him, a pack in hand that damnable smiles of his firmly in place. "You have very expressive eyes, Andrew."

Andrew wasn't impressed. "Masking tape is this way."

Grey is chuckling behind him when he walked away. Andrew led him to the section where they kept the masking tape, picking the two they supplied and holding it out for Grey. He picked the wider one, and Andrew put the other back. "How long have you worked here?" Grey asked conversationally.

"Four years."

"And in those four years, have you ever received a raise? A promotion?"

Andrew's eyes cut across Grey suspiciously. "Why do you ask?"

"The internship program is still very much open and in need of some fresh blood."

"Again, thanks but no thank you." Stopping in front of the display of ropes, Andrew ticked off the ones they had to Grey. "What do you need? We stock synthetic and natural filament rope, twine, cable cords …" Looking over his shoulder to where Grey was hovering a few inches away, Andrew felt a nervous twitch take over his fingers at the dark look in Grey's eyes. His expression was indecipherable. It should unnerve him. It did – but it also … entranced him. Confused him.

"I'll take five yards of the natural filament rope, please," Grey said, his voice an octave lower and Andrew nods mutely.

Maybe Grey was just going to redecorate his lavish beach house or something. Or update his penthouse. Andrew didn't know, and he didn't want to know because the alternative option forming in his mind disturbed him and threatened to take him back to a part of his life, his youth, that he didn't want to relive.

"How's the article coming along?" Grey asked, watching as Andrew cut the length of rope with a small furrow of his brows.

"Fine, I guess," Andrew answered thoughtlessly, concentrating on tying the rope into a slipknot.

"I look forward to reading it."

"Mmhm. Here." Shoving the rope into Grey's free hand, Andrew made his way back to the counter to ring him up. Back at the register and with the counter to provide a wide girth of space between them, Andrew rang up the items without meeting Grey's unwavering gaze. "Would you like a bag?"

"I would like a lot of things at the moment, Andrew, but a bag will suffice for now," Grey said and Andrew gave him a blank stare.

He bagged the items, handed them over and said, "Twenty-seven sixty is your total." Grey pulls his out his wallet and presses a crisp fifty into Andrew's open hand. His fingers lingered on the skin of his wrist, nails just barely scraping over the visible blue veins before Andrew snatched away his hand with a sniff. "Twenty-two forty is your change."

"Keep it," Grey said.

"I don't need your charity."

Grey's lips quirked up into a wide grin. "It's not charity, Andrew."

"Then what do you call it?"

"An incentive."

Andrew pauses to consider his words, and when elects to speak, his words are uncertain, wavering; he feels anxiety scratching at the surface of his skin. "An incentive for what?"

"To reconsider your opinions regarding me."

The anxiety recedes in place of him snorting humorlessly. 'I'm not interested in you, Grey."

"You will be. Have a good day, Andrew."


End file.
